


Turning Point

by inelegantly (Lir)



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Developing Relationship, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Negotiations, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6370348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/inelegantly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akira doesn't want to meet with Hikaru. But after both Ogata and his own father take an interest in him, Akira feels he has no choice. Hikaru represents a change to the comfortable life Akira has grown used to, a change that's threatening in how little Akira is able to define it. In the face of such things, Akira never has been one to back down from a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mio_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mio_chan/gifts).



> I loved the suggestion to write about suits. And despite copious canon instances of suits, thinking about suits got me to yakuza, and thinking of Akira and Hikaru in a yakuza AU got me to here. I hope that you enjoy the story that has come about as a result!

* * *

The sound of the chime above the entryway door rings out across the quiet Go salon, and Touya Akira knows that his guest has arrived.

He doesn't move from the seat he's taken at the back of the main room, centered within a halo of light cast by the only lamp left on to cut through the salon's gloom. It's after hours, and no one else is playing. Akira places another stone upon the goban, recalling the game he'd played against his father the night before. That match had not gone well for black. 

He hears footsteps, muffled though they are by the salon's dark carpeting. He doesn't look up. The situation playing out upon the board is tricky, and Akira knows that when he faced it before, he made the wrong decision. He will not make so foolish a choice again; he will find the avenue through which black might live. 

" _Touya,_ " a familiar voice calls out, and Akira is forced to look up. 

"Shindou," he returns. Though he speaks smoothly, evenly, he is not entirely able to keep the reproach from his voice. 

"What did you want to meet in a place like this for?" Hikaru asks, glancing around at the stark white walls and dark somber paneling with a look that all too clearly telegraphs his disgust. "It's like somebody died in here!" 

"Are you so certain that someone hasn't?" Akira asks, drawing his own gaze away and returning it to the board. 

He studies the stones, as if Hikaru is no concern of his. One of his hands reaches toward the go-ke full of black stones, drawing one out with more confidence than he feels. Even after a day of contemplation, he doesn't feel he can play this game any better than he'd done before. 

" _Touya,_ " Hikaru says again, more sharply than before. His hands slam down on the table, to either side of the board. The stones shiver upon the wood, but not a one slides out of place. "What did you want to talk to me for?" 

Akira looks up, directly into Hikaru's eyes. They're closer even than he had realized, and for a moment he is breathless with surprise. _This_ situation hasn't improved any more than the one within the game. Akira doesn't _want_ to meet with Hikaru, but after both Ogata and his own father have taken an interest in him, Akira feels as if he has no choice. 

It's been more than a year since they first met. Part of Akira is simply surprised Hikaru remembers him. 

"Ogata-san says that you can play," Akira says, placing the single stone he'd withdrawn back into the go-ke before beginning to clear away those lain upon the board. "Sit down, please. Have a game with me." 

He offers Hikaru a polite little slice of a smile, and Hikaru's brows furrow in with puzzlement. Akira's smile draws the slightest bit wider, this time with true amusement over how obvious it is that Hikaru doesn't know what to make of his request. He gestures with one hand toward the chair opposite him, as inviting as he knows how to be. 

"You don't want to play Go," Hikaru insists, even as he drops mulishly down into the chair. 

"I do," Akira insists. "I have a great appreciation for the game, and I am always interested in playing against an opponent whose skill has been vouched for by anyone whose opinion I trust." 

"You mean Ogata?" Hikaru asks. He grabs for the go-ke nearest him, scooping out a handful of stones. "He's a thug, isn't he? Nobody dresses that way if they aren't a thug." 

Akira gives Hikaru a slow looking over, gaze dragging from his face, down toward the table, and back up again. Hikaru's tie is loosened, the knot pulled too low and tight away from his throat, and his jacket badly fits him. The collar of his shirt has gone limp with his sweat. Nevertheless, it's a suit he's in. 

"If that's the case," Akira says. "Then what would you have to say for yourself?" 

Hikaru splutters, and doesn't say anything at all. He spills his palmful of stones out upon the board with an impatient clatter, gesturing with one hand for Akira to do the same. He unfurls his fingers, letting a single stone drop even as Hikaru does the count. 

"Black," Hikaru announces, with some relish. "Hand it over." 

Akira trades pots wordlessly, pushing down the strange feeling of _relief_ that's rising up in his chest simply at finding out he's playing white. 

"What did you really want to talk about?" Hikaru asks again, holding a single stone between his fingers but not looking at the board. His eyes are on Akira, bright with the same challenge that's written all into his posture. 

Akira knows that until he provides _some_ satisfactory answer to that question, Hikaru will not make his play.

"It's like I told you," Akira says. "Ogata-san spoke highly of you. After what he said, I wanted to meet with you myself. I thought that perhaps you were different than I remember." 

Akira remembers a young tough who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, who picked fights against his betters that he didn't deserve to win, who nevertheless _somehow_ came out on top. It isn't so different from what Ogata has told him. Hikaru's supposed skill on the Go board aside, the way Ogata had spoken of Hikaru's proficiency with his fists...

Akira glances to the hand that's fingering one black stone, imagines those knuckles bright with the red of someone else's blood, and has to glance away just as abruptly. 

"So am I?" Hikaru asks. "Different? From what you remember?" 

He isn't. But no matter how soundly Hikaru may have defended himself from a handful of low-level gang enforcers, that alone should not have been enough to earn Ogata's interest — certainly not enough to earn even a glance from Akira's father, let alone his actual consideration. Akira stares at the puzzle before him, and still he does not see the solution. 

"I can't say," Akira temporizes. "Take your move. Perhaps your play will give me a better frame of reference from which to judge." 

Hikaru makes a face, a mutinous one, like he's about to object to being bossed around. But then he visibly shrugs it off, rolling his eyes and placing his stone at one of the star points. Akira inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, some basic part of him soothed by the commencement of the game. Go is simple, compared to gang wars and inter-organization politics. Every game has a beginning, a middle, and an end, and though the possibilities for moves might be near as countless as the stars in the sky, a battle on a Go board was something Akira could hold in his head in its entirety, safe for his careful study. 

He selects a stone from his own go-ke, and places it down upon the board. 

"He is, isn't he," Hikaru says, though this time he makes his move while he talks. "A thug, I mean." 

"Ogata?" Akira asks, returning Hikaru's move with the beginning of a familiar opening sequence. "Does he really seem that way to you?" 

"Well, not like just _any_ thug," Hikaru says, impatient. "I mean, you know." 

He waves his hand vaguely, angrily, at the entirety of the Go salon surrounding them. It remains quiet and dim, austere in its decoration and lonely in its lack of company. Akira can admit that there's something somber about the atmosphere, a weight to the situation that he's done his part to orchestrate. It hadn't been difficult, not when the Go salon was already owned by his father. 

"I mean," Hikaru continues, "that I'm not _stupid._ I know that you're yakuza." 

"My father would deny that," Akira says, "if you made such accusations to his face. He is an upstanding member of this community, who has made many important contributions to business and to the neighborhood in which we live." 

"Uh huh, yeah, whatever," Hikaru says, waving Akira off as he looks at the board. "But you're yakuza." 

"You didn't seem to know that a year ago," Akira says instead, softer than before. 

"I didn't know that a year ago," Hikaru admits, taking his move. "Not before I met— I mean. Ugh! It doesn't matter, I know what I'm talking about _now,_ and you're not going to convince me your dad is just any old businessman. And you're not going to convince me you don't want something, either!" 

Akira shrugs, feigning intense interest in the conflict just beginning to develop on the board. Black is being aggressive, right from the start. Somehow, that sort of play doesn't surprise Akira in the least. 

"What do you _want,_ Touya?" 

Akira glances up, distracted from his contemplation by the force behind Hikaru's words. When he speaks, his own voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Someone took you in. I know someone took you in." 

"And you want to know who it is, is that it? Your dad asked me the same thing, except he used even more words to do it, it was so annoying! Why can't any of you just say what you mean?" 

Akira laughs, a high, startled sound. "I didn't say I want anything." 

"Don't _lie_ to me," Hikaru says, and once again his hands are on the table, all too suddenly he's leaning out of his chair. 

Hikaru's face swings precariously close to Akira's face, staring him down from so close a distance that Akira is breathless with the suddenness of it. His pulse speeds unwillingly up, and he tells himself vehemently that he will _not_ be intimidated by tactics as shoddy as this. 

"I'm _not,_ " he insists, with steely stubbornness, pressing his palms down on the table to push himself up out of his chair. 

Akira leans into Hikaru's space, fighting him back, winning himself a gap in which to breathe. He isn't— he doesn't— it's not that he _wants_ something from Hikaru, it's simply that suddenly there is this _presence_ within his world that hadn't been there before, one that both Ogata and his father are giving an unexpected degree of deference. Hikaru is _changing_ things in Akira's world, through means he cannot discern. He isn't about to allow such things to pass without some response of his own. 

" _Bullshit,_ " Hikaru says, still from right up in Akira's space. "And I'll prove it." 

Akira starts to laugh, haughty and disbelieving because he's been playing this game _far_ longer than Hikaru, and if he'd given Hikaru any sort of leverage _anywhere_ in their conversation, he would have known it. There comes a high, scoffing sound from his lips before it is cut off by Hikaru's mouth pressing to his mouth, by Hikaru's hand twisting around his tie and pulling him in close. 

Akira pleads shock as the reason for his docility, as an explanation for how Hikaru might so effortlessly drag him into the kiss. But his surprise is short-lived; Hikaru's lips are rough against his own, pushing at him harshly, sloppily, demanding of Akira things that he cannot help but want to refuse. He's positively _entitled_ in how he acts, infuriating Akira with the _audacity_ of what he is so clearly thinking. 

Hikaru thinks that Akira wants— wants— he struggles to think it, indignant as he is, denials sharp on the tip of his tongue. Akira has never thought of wanting such a thing once in his young life. 

He kisses Hikaru back anyway. His fingers close tight around Hikaru's wrist, squeezing the hand that has gone and fisted itself in his tie. He squeezes Hikaru so tightly that for the briefest moment Hikaru gasps from the pain, and during that momentary hesitation Akira's tongue has darted out to swipe into Hikaru's mouth. He kisses viciously, furiously, telegraphing all of his indignation through the movements of his lips against Hikaru's lips. Something is being _kept_ from him, and though Hikaru is wrong about what Akira wants from him — _was_ wrong, in any event — he is correct that Akira _wants._

He breaks away, breathless, chest heaving. 

"I want to know why you seem so special," Akira says, breathing the words out harshly against Hikaru's lips. "Enough so that my father cares to whom your allegiances have been made. If that means I want to know who took you in, then so be it." 

"I was right," Hikaru says, triumphant in victory. 

He draws back, smug with his win, but only so far as Akira lets him. His hand is still around Hikaru's wrist, gripping it like a vise. The last thing he intends to do is allow Hikaru time to revel in his petty victory. He pulls Hikaru back in, slamming both of their hands down against the table. He hears, but does not see, the Go stones jumping noisily upon the board. 

"You want something too," Akira says. "Don't you? If you didn't, you wouldn't be stirring up this mess." 

Hikaru flushes, a reaction so unexpected to Akira that much of the wind is taken out of his sails by his surprise. He watches in fascination as an ugly red spreads across Hikaru's face before he makes another attempt at jerking his hand out of Akira's grip. Reflexively, Akira holds fast, though as he realizes Hikaru is _embarrassed_ and that he must be _right,_ he clamps down on his hold all the more firmly. 

"You do," Akira says, in the wondering tone of someone for whom a revelation is still coming to pass. 

"It's not about you," Hikaru insists. "There's just... There's somebody I need to pay back, and _your_ dad went and got himself involved in it!" 

"Your benefactor," Akira surmises, though that's no longer the thing he cares about most. 

Wheels are turning fast in his mind, spinning with possibilities of who might have provided Hikaru his blessing, who was influential enough that his father and Ogata would respond to his pull. They're moving, but Akira will spend the time _later_ to work that puzzle out. 

"Ogata and my father care about you because of your benefactor," Akira continues, feeling secure in at least that much of what he's worked out. "But that isn't the reason you came when I asked." 

Hikaru makes another attempt to pull back his hand but Akira holds fast. Hikaru is mutinously silent, but doesn't deny what Akira has said. 

"You remembered me. From more than a year ago, even though we only met the once, and even though you say you didn't know who I was at the time." 

Hikaru stops trying to pull at his hand, though his entire body remains tense with nerves. Akira can feel it from where he's squeezing Hikaru's hand, squeezing his wrist, can feel the rigidity of Hikaru's body extending all the way up the length of his arm. He's like a tethered thing, an animal caught in a trap but alert with the possibility of fleeing if he's presented with even the merest of openings. 

Akira thinks how, in some games, there arise situations where only a single move will allow a player to continue to fight. 

He thinks how, while he's been so resistant to changes his father might make to the family business, he's failed to consider how those changes might impact other aspects of his life. 

Akira looks at Hikaru, really looks at him, embarrassed and wary but nevertheless unwilling to cave, and he thinks, perhaps it isn't so world-stopping for Hikaru to have been correct. Perhaps what Akira _wants_ is to be able to confront the change moving in on his life, with his own autonomy, and with his own interests at heart.

He takes a step in towards Hikaru, and Hikaru holds his ground. He takes a step more than that, so that they are toe to toe and the tension in their arms has gone loose with expectation. Akira tilts his head just slightly to one side, letting his hair falls about his face just so and so that he can scrutinize Hikaru with the entirety of his attention. Hikaru is still a little pink. Akira likes the way that looks on him. 

He leans in across the meager distance between them, and presses a far gentler kiss to fall upon Hikaru's lips.

He pulls back, just a breath, just a hair, watches Hikaru's lips part as if he means to speak in response. He watches as Hikaru's tongue flicks out to wet them in this moment of peace before Hikaru's brain catches up with his mouth. Akira kisses him again, more firmly, not letting him find the words. 

He isn't allowed the lead uncontested for long. Hikaru pulls him in again by his shirt, wrong hand fisted up in the fabric and pressing in against Akira's chest. He shoves their mouths together harder, faster, and when Akira lets his other hand free he uses the both of them to take Akira by the waist. He allows it, wrapping his arms around Hikaru's shoulders and slowly turning them, until he's able to push Hikaru down upon the bench that runs the length of the salon's back wall. 

Akira is up in Hikaru's lap a moment later, perched over him, hair falling forward in a curtain around their faces. He kisses Hikaru one more time, quick, victorious, then pulls back just enough to tuck his fingers in at Hikaru's throat. 

"Father is going to bring you in on our business," he says with breathless certainty. "Unless you find reason for him not to do so. He's going to bring you into the family." 

His fingers are working quickly, impatiently, tugging at the knot of Hikaru's tie with frustrated little motions. The knot really has been pulled too tight, and Akira struggles to pick it apart. 

"Is that what you're worried about _now_?" Hikaru asks, glancing up at Akira, glancing down at where Akira is pulling his tie entirely free of his collar. 

"It's important," Akira insists. "I need to know how you'll act towards me when that comes to pass." 

His hands are splayed against Hikaru's chest, pushing his suit jacket open and pressing his palms flat against Hikaru's shirtfront so that he can feel the warmth of Hikaru's skin through the fabric. He can feel Hikaru's chest heave beneath his hands, though whether it's with indignation that Akira is choosing to talk about business _now,_ or with anticipation of what _other_ things Akira might choose to do, Akira cannot say. 

"How I'll— You want— How do you _think_ I'm going to act?" 

Akira stares coolly down at him. Hikaru makes a frustrated groan out between his teeth. 

"I liked you from the _start,_ " Hikaru says. "Or, well, I thought what you did when we met was really cool, and then I couldn't stop thinking about it. You're the entire reason I got into all of this mess in the _first place._ " 

"Am I?" Akira asks. 

He feigns cool indifference, though the facade is difficult to hold. 

"You're impossible! What do you _want_ me to say? It's not like I'm going to... Going to fight with you, or whatever stupid thing it is you're worried about!" 

Akira continues to hover over him, hands on Hikaru's chest, mouth pressed closed in a thoughtful line. He stays there, for a long, protracted moment before the tension drains out of him and he relaxes to sit more naturally astride Hikaru's thighs. 

"If you agree to work for him," Akira says, softer than before, almost conversationally, "with what Ogata-san has said about your... More noteworthy skills, father may assign you to protect me. All I really want to know is, will your other concerns make that difficult for you to do?"

Hikaru glances once again in between them, like he's trying to figure out whether what Akira is asking is a trick question. When no clues make themselves clear, he shrugs. "No? Why would it, I bet I can protect somebody like you _just fine._ " 

"Oh," Akira says, trying not to feel insulted by just how cocky Hikaru sounds. "Then I believe I've gotten what I wanted." 

"You don't, uh, that is, you won't—" Hikaru stumbles through saying, glancing down at Akira's hands upon his chest, shifting his hips awkwardly beneath Akira's weight. 

Akira can guess exactly what it is Hikaru is struggling to find the words for. Rather than helping, he slides backwards off of Hikaru's lap, rising to his feet and straightening his own clothes. He pulls his jacket to hang more comfortably from his shoulders, and reaches up to straighten his tie just so about his throat. 

Then he resumes his place in front of the Go board, and gestures once again to the space across from him. 

"You're right," he says, voice a wonder of polite apology. "I may have gotten my assurances about our... Future business endeavors, but we were playing a game, how inconsiderate of me. Please, I'd like to finish what we started." 

Hikaru shoots him a dirty look, and doesn't bother with trying to be subtle as he readjusts the front of his pants. But resentful as he might be of Akira's change in tact, he does get up from the bench in order to again take the seat across from Akira at the Go board. 

"I'm going to crush you," Hikaru says. "Just because I'm supposed to watch your back or whatever, once your father finishes making his offer to me, doesn't mean I'm going to let you win." 

"You?" Akira asks. "I'll be impressed if you beat me at all. Make your move, let me see that you aren't all talk." 

Hikaru does, after a quick look to remind himself of where they'd progressed to in the game. Akira returns it, falling quickly into the rhythm of the game, pushing at Hikaru's defenses and stabbing into his formations. Loathe though he might be to admit it after Hikaru's bragging, Ogata was right. Hikaru isn't without skill on the goban. 

Akira will be pleased to play many more games against him, if he holds up his half of the fight then nearly as well as he does in their first match. Akira invited Hikaru to the Go salon for information and though he likely could not have anticipated it at the start, finds that out of all the innumerable moves he could have made, perhaps he has in _this_ instance found the ideal path — if not for black to live, then for Akira to do so, in a way that is at peace with how he otherwise would choose to conduct his life.

* * *


End file.
